Intuition (35 page)

I can feel my breathing slow down just a little bit. “It's just so wrong!”

“I agree,” he says. “But sometimes you have to accept wrong now in order to make it right later.” Griffon stands up and holds out his hand. “Let's walk. You need to get outside, and I was told something about ice cream.”

I shake my head and brush his hand away. “I don't want to walk. And I definitely don't want any ice cream.”

“Fine. Just come with me while I get some. There's a great place with weird flavors just a few blocks from here.”

“Caramelized bacon,” I say quietly. “That's their best one.”

Griffon wiggles his fingers and I take his hand and let him pull me up, keeping my fingers wrapped around his for just a second longer than necessary. There are so many things I want
to say, but everything is so messed up that I don't know where to start.

“Finish putting your things away,” he says. “I'm going to call Janine and tell her about Zander, so I'll meet you out front.”

I shove my things into the closet. The rage and fury that took up so much space in my body has vanished, leaving me feeling empty and spent. I duck out into the hall once I make sure that it's empty. I can't face anyone else right now.

Griffon is just hanging up when I walk out the front door. “Janine thinks you're a genius, in case you were wondering,” he says. “She was calling a Sekhem meeting before we even got off the phone.” He matches his step to mine as we walk down the street. “I think she's going to want you to be a part of this.”

I nod. “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Griffon walks in silence for a few steps, but I can tell there's something more he wants to say. “I . . . I never did apologize.”

My heart races at the words I've been wanting to hear. “For leaving you alone with Christophe,” he continues, and I look away to hide my disappointment. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him glance at my neck. The bruises are gone, but I know he can still see them in his memory. “I never would have, if I had any idea what he was.” There's pain in his eyes, and I see him swallow hard. “I trusted him. I trusted him enough to leave you with him.”

“You didn't know,” I say. “Nobody did. Christophe was good at hiding who he was.”

Griffon shakes his head. “But I should have known. At the break-in at the Swiss lab, one of the best Iawi Sekhem was
killed. We all thought it was outsiders. But putting the pieces together now . . . I'm sure it was Christophe.”

“It's always easy to see things after the fact. It's not your fault.” It seems like it's just moments before we're in front of the ice cream store. Neither of us says much, lost in our own thoughts as we order and walk back out onto the sidewalk with our cones.

“You didn't get the bacon,” Griffon says as we walk slowly down the street. He feels like a stranger to me, like we're miles apart. “I'm a little disappointed.”

“Peanut-butter curry was calling me today.” I take a lick from the bottom, feeling slightly better with the sharp sweetness flooding my mouth. “Want a bite?”

“Sure.” He leans down and takes a small bite out of the side of my ice cream. I take a bite right after him in the same spot. This is as close to kissing him as I've been in a long time.

“I thought you hated peanut butter,” I say. “I'm trying to be more flexible,” he says. “Want some strawberry jalapeño?”

I shake my head. “Too spicy. And a little weird.”

We walk in silence, one of those times where you're not really walking to get anywhere, just walking to be somewhere. I stop and look into the window of a jewelry store. Hanging on a velvet board are a bunch of necklaces, the one in the middle a silver ankh with a purple stone. I reach up reflexively before I remember that I'm not wearing one anymore.

“Yours is gone,” Griffon says, and I'm not sure if it's a statement or a question.

I nod slowly, still staring into the window. “I gave it back.”

Something seems to shift in Griffon as we stand there looking at the display. “Let me get that one for you.” He glances over at me. “For your birthday next week.”

I feel myself blushing. “You remembered.”

“August twenty-seventh,” he says, glancing at me.

“Of course you wouldn't forget,” I say. I look back at the necklace. “Thanks, but no. I'm going to get another one, but I want to wait until I find one I love. And then I'm going to buy it myself.”

He nods as though he understands and turns away from the window. “Two truths and a lie,” he says.

I can't help but smile. “Okay.”

“I broke my leg so badly the first time I went snowboarding, they had to get a sled to carry me down the mountain. Totally embarrassing. And painful.”

“Aw!”

He shakes his head. “Shh. Not done.”

“Sorry.”

“When I was five, I shaved my legs because I thought they were too hairy.”

A laugh slips out as I picture that, and he gives me a look.

“And my newest Akhet skill is the ability to rewind time.” His face is serious as he looks at me. I hold his gaze a beat longer than I need to before I turn away, my heart pounding.

“Too easy,” I say. “Nobody can rewind time.”

“Doesn't stop me from wishing I could,” he says.

“And the beauty—and the curse—of being Akhet is that we can never forget. Any of it.” There's a silence as the words settle between us.

“Right,” Griffon says, squinting into the distance. “It's such a
nice day. Do you want to go down to the beach? We could ride along the Great Highway for a little while before I take you home.”

I think about how it feels to ride behind him, the sun shining on the water beside us. “I'd like that,” I say as we walk back toward the recital hall. “But I need to make a stop first.”

Griffon looks at the shiny blue convertible with the white interior and the big silver bass clef hanging from the rearview mirror. “This is yours?”

“Yep,” I say. “A convertible VW Rabbit.” I see Griffon's grin. “Don't tell me you had a car just like this when they first came out.”

“Nope,” he says. “I wasn't really a Rabbit kind of guy. I did always want a convertible, though. When did you get your license?”

“A few weeks ago,” I say. “I had all that money from giving cello lessons, and one of Dad's friends sold it to me.” I shrug and look at the car that I've come to love in such a short time. “I got tired of always being the passenger. Of not being in control of where I was going.” I lean against the car and hold my breath, feeling the moment change. “Or who I was going with.”

Griffon hesitates, then plants both hands on the hood behind me. Shivers run down my spine as he presses me against the car and whispers in my ear, “You are totally amazing.” As my lips meet his I feel a rush of emotion as everything that's happened in the past several months collides.

“I'm so sorry,” he murmurs, his lips still on mine. “God, I'm so sorry I was such an ass.” He pulls back slightly and buries
his face in my neck, and I reach up to run my fingers through his short hair, feeling the soft fuzz instead of the curls I'm used to, not wanting this moment to end. For a second I feel dizzy and I'm afraid that I might be drifting into a memory, but then everything comes back into sharp focus. With Griffon, there is no past to fall back on, no memories of another relationship, no expectations to meet. With him it's all about what's now and what's next.

“It wasn't all your fault,” I say, my voice wavering and uncertain as I speak.

“It was,” he says, reaching down to brush a strand of hair away from my face. “I almost let Drew ruin the best thing that's ever happened to me. All because of something that took place hundreds of years ago that had nothing to do with you. It was stupid. I knew you weren't seeing him. But I needed it to be your decision. I couldn't live the rest of my life with what might have been hanging over us.”

“Why couldn't you just be honest with me? Just tell me what happened in the past that was so bad.”

Griffon hesitates. “I should have. It was a long time ago in Italy. I fell for someone who was dealing with a relationship in the past. It . . . it didn't work out so well for me, and I was afraid to go through that kind of pain again.”

My memory flashes back to the woman at Drew's party. Chiara. That's what she'd said her name was when she knew Griffon. She'd also said he wasn't the forgiving type. I put my fingers in his belt loops and pull him to me, wanting nothing but to feel him close again. We kiss and touch for a long time, our hands exploring familiar territory that at the same time is
completely new. Without a doubt, I can do this forever. A passing car honks at us and I pull away, the happiness that's building up inside barely contained. “How about that ride to the beach?”

Griffon smiles at me. “I'm cool staying here for the next couple of days.”

I push him gently. “Me too. Although I can think of a few more comfortable spots.” I picture his big, wide bed, shining with a square of afternoon sunlight, and have no doubt my face is red. “Come on, let's go.”

I unlock the doors and put the top down, praying and then cheering when she starts the first time I turn the key.

Griffon buckles himself into the passenger side and grins at me. “I like it.”

Looking for a break in the traffic, I ease the car onto the road, smoothly switching gears like Dad taught me.

In a few short miles, we turn onto the Great Highway as the late afternoon sun sparkles on the waves below. I push down on the accelerator and the car gains speed, racing down the hill toward the beach. I've been on this road a million times, but it's like I'm seeing it for the first time, not balancing on the rear seat peeking around Griffon's back or watching out the window from the passenger side, but staring straight ahead, controlling every motion.

Griffon turns toward me, grabs my right hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze. I grin back at him with my hair blowing behind me, the asphalt speeding beneath me, and the horizon stretching in front of me, knowing that without a doubt, this moment, right now, is the best one of all.

A sequel is like a middle child—people make an extra effort to let it know that it's loved. This manuscript was loved by many people who helped make it a reality:

My agent, Erin Murphy, who always answers e-mails in a day, anguished ones in minutes.

My editor, Mary Kate Castellani, who knows what I want to say and then helps me say it.

My publisher, Emily Easton, and the team at Walker for supporting all of us from the very start.

My amazing friend Daisy Whitney, who is the guru of my writing life and always makes me rethink my footwear choices.

My writer friends Malinda Lo, Gabrielle Charbonnet, Cheryl Herbsman, and Robin Mellom, who always “get it.”

My friends Karen Ryan, Jessica Romero, Barbara Stewart,
and Jill Raimondi, who know nothing about writing but everything about friendship.

My neighbors Denise, Ed, Juliet, and Lukas for loaning me Griffon's memory and their unflagging support.

My family—Mom, Joe, Dad, Suzanne, and Jessica, for their constant interest and cheerleading. And my sister Wendy for naming her sons Connor and Griffin.

My boys, Jaron and Taemon, for being the most understanding kids a writer can have and not minding my constant muttering.

My husband, Bayo, for holding down our lives when I'm mentally elsewhere. I couldn't do it without you.

My readers—your e-mails and tweets about the sequel kept me going in the middle of the night.

Dirty Little Secrets

Transcendence

Copyright © 2013 by C. J. Omololu

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